Tag: Thoughts
Looking across cultures, this appears to be universal
The human impulse to COLOR.
Dyes, ornamentation, paint, personal makeup.
With endless variations.
Even what Eve saw in the apple.
Is everybody crazy?
You know, like screwed up?
We’re reflecting on so many people we encounter, in person and their stories as well as in the news, and so often there’s a kind of lunacy involved. That, or plain tragic fate. I wouldn’t even call it bad luck.
Makes us question if anyone’s normal, whatever that is, or makes us see our own irrational failings and emotional struggles as nothing in comparison. (Yes, we still want to be better than those poor unfortunates.) As for paying the bills and that sort of thing – getting to medium income would be nice – though even that is beyond the range of possibility for many.
Lately, in revisiting the program booklets of so many musical performances I’ve attended over the years, I’ve been wondering whatever happened to so much of the rising talent I heard – the soloists or opera singers who never made it to the top, and that’s just one front.
Authors and journalists, too, as the written word has receded from the public spotlight. (No, Fox News anchors are not journalists, and that’s part of the problem.)
Makes me wonder if I’ve been looking at the whole world wrong. Maybe we should begin with an assumption of insanity somewhere in every psyche and work from there. Maybe that was the best part of the hippie outbreak, letting that side somehow out of the box. Dunno, but it was lively.
Of course, it also means looking into the dark side of life, if it’s possible to do so and not become engulfed in evil. That part’s scary.
And here we are, wishing everyone Merry Christmas.
Ding-a-ling!
Feeling stupid, again
Do you ever have the feeling when you’re reading or listening to certain discussions that you have little idea what’s going on?
The kind that hinge on knowing certain figures being referenced, for starters?
I could point to overhearing the lifeguards gossiping about their plans for the weekend or last Friday’s party, or even some of the slang they’re using. Fair enough.
These days, now that I’ve been out of the news business nearly eight years, it can happen even when people are discussing political developments or pop culture celebrities. Yes, I’ve curtailed my awareness there – too many other things to work on.
With other people, I’ve commonly missed social cues, leading to awkward situations or much worse. Add to that my lack of hands-on ability in home repairs and other domestic necessities, even before we get to high tech or digital gaming.
And trying to remember people’s names and faces has always been a challenge.
Oh, my, this confession hurts – but I have witnesses. And it’s not even where I thought this post would begin.
Look, I’ve been considered a rather intelligent guy all my life, one with a broad range of inquiry of an interdisciplinary type. Something of a geek, actually, who loves classical music and opera and the great outdoors but labors as a wordsmith.
But here’s where the twist kicks in.
Too often when I’m reading an article in, say, the New York Review of Books, I’m feeling flummoxed. No, I haven’t read most of the books or even authors being discussed, the subtleties of the argument are eluding me, I have no background on the time or place or conflicts under consideration. And they’re being raised like it’s something every real thinker should already know. Yipes!
It’s happening again as I read a collection of conversations and correspondence between Gary Snyder and Julia Martin. I get the mentions of other poets, yes, though some of the talk gets pretty technical. But when they wander off into Buddhism, it goes way beyond my many readings, and then there’s a whole library of ecological and goddess philosophy volumes they invoke, all unknown to me.
Once again, I’m feeling stupid. Not just humbled but speechless.
Perhaps I could turn to my beloved musical experiences, but even there, I’m a rank amateur. Yes, I often baffle those around me when I mention a certain composer or performer, but put me in a circle of real musicians, and I’m again overwhelmed. I can’t even tell you what key a piece is in when I look at a score. Just wait till they get really technical.
Well, I do have some specialties, beginning with Quaker theology and history, but even there I’m a rank amateur compared to the pros, meaning college professors.
The fact remains that I believe these things are important, even if I can’t remember details like the title of a poem I truly enjoyed or the import of particular yoga luminaries.
Maybe in wanting to know it all, at least on some corner of the intellectual frontier, I’m left knowing very little.
As I said, I’m feeling stupid, again.
Kinisi 34
TWELVE BEFORE NOON
Sometimes, you need a bigger map
I’ve loved maps since childhood, so our new interest in Downeast Maine has whetted an appetite to investigate more of the region’s geography, which includes a lot of water. Not just the ragged coastline and bays, but also large lakes and many bogs, marshes, and swamps plus rivers and waterfalls.
One thing that’s rather boggled my mind is discovering of what’s cut off from U.S. maps on that edge of the continent.
For instance, I had no clue of Grand Manan Island, which is 21 miles long with bluffs rising 200 to 400 feet above the Atlantic just nine miles east of Maine. It even has three lighthouses. Getting there’s a whole other matter.
Still, I doubt that many Americans think of anything lying in the ocean east of the United States until you get to the British Isles or European mainland. So is there anything else we’re missing?
Well, there’s tiny Machias Seal Island further south, claimed by both the U.S. and Canada, which has a long lighthouse presence there.
What’s really surprised me is how far the province of Nova Scotia extends south.
From the easternmost point in the U.S., Nova Scotia is more than 82 miles to the southeast.
From Bar Harbor, Maine, it’s 113 miles to the east.
And further south, it runs down past Portland, Maine, where sits more than 200 miles to the east.
Put another way, nearly anyone sailing from Maine has to navigate around this extension of Canada.
If you follow the news, it also puts some of our fishing controversies in perspective.
From Provincetown, at the tip of Cape Cod, for instance, the distance to the tip of Nova Scotia is roughly 230 miles, versus 111 to Portland, Maine, meaning that the southernmost point of Canada juts that much further into what I had considered U.S. fishing grounds.
With the bigger map, one including both the New England, New Brunswick, and Nova Scotia shorelines, you can see how a funnel is formed, one where ocean currents push into Fundy Bay to create the world’s highest tides.
For me, this is a reminder of how often our comprehension of a problem is limited by conventional thinking when we look at the situation.
Just how else do you get outside the box, anyway?
On one commute, years ago
I came up behind an ambulance leaving an accident scene with its lights flashing.
And then a bit down the road, it pulled over, turned the flashers off, and continued.
Just like that.
Now that writers are reminded of the importance of self-marketing
“Brands need an unchanging core.” (I lost the citation long ago.)
The prompt makes me wonder about mine:
How would you define me? (Help! Please!)
All along I’ve been writing to discover the universe, where I’ve encountered widely varied experiences. And it’s supposed to be reflected in a brand image? I’m really confused.
And as the semi-official state religion of today?
Church and synagogue attendance and membership are declining as the population turns gray, but that doesn’t mean many younger Americans aren’t worshiping something. It just might be an unacknowledged idol rather than the God of the Bible.
So what is the idol? One befitting the state, or secular society, rather than what’s more strictly defined as religion?
~*~
The first clue might come it that nemesis for Sunday school programs – soccer and softball leagues, which schedule many of their games and practice sessions on Sunday mornings. (Parental visitation in divorce decisions further affect the youth religious training.) It’s fair to ask just what values are the sports programs are giving our children.
Sports, of course, points to professional athletics, and if you tune into any of the radio sports talk shows, you can get a taste of the ways the players and games are worshiped by adult males. Just listen to the passion and attention. It’s fair to bet few of them have engaged spirituality with such devotion.
Beyond that, consider how much of their identity arises from their chosen team. Where I live, it’s not uncommon for an obituary to list a person as an avid Red Sox or New England Patriots fan (or Celtics or Bruins). Sometimes the following even extends to a favorite sportscaster.
Many of the teams, we should note, play in arenas and stadiums built with taxpayer money or similar concessions.
Sports also points to the cult of physical fitness – people who can find five hours a week to spend at the gym but not an hour a week for worship. Sunday mornings often turn into fundraising walks or races, too.
~*~
Another, but more passive cult idolizes celebrities. Generally, the figures are venerated for their physical beauty or sexual magnetism, which are parlayed into the entertainment or fashion business. Some professional athletes cross over into celebrity status, while a perplexing few more are simply born rich and have no talent at all other than being celebrities, kind of like royalty without the responsibilities. No scientist, surgeon, teacher, corporate executive, senator, governor, or other working leader can match the recognition a typical celebrity possesses.
For much of the envious public, following their contortions occupies a lot of time and brain space.
The whole scene looks to me like a modern-day cyber-Parthenon full of semi-mortals.
~*~
Less obvious is the way art has become a semi-official state religion in America, now that state and federal funding exists. There’s long been the recognition of the fine arts as an adjunct to wealth, for whatever reasons. Many sense an abstract “goodness” in the products of art – chamber music, art museums, Shakespeare festivals, opera, poetry, the “book” that so many people dream of writing – even if the artist himself/herself remains (often with good reason!) somewhat suspect, a shady character. Perhaps that’s why these big institutions stand between us and the rest of ourselves, as artists and audiences.
Something abstractly “good” even when they themselves admit they don’t know much about the field. Contrast that to the lesser state religions in America: collegiate and professional athletics, Hollywood movies, and rock concerts, wherein no one actually advocates any common wealth.
I raise this to point out the materialism we, even as starving artists, are enmeshed in – one way or another. It is so easy to hold the artist up in some idealized light – or the product itself – as the object of worship, totally forgetting to turn to the source of all. The dilemma of the news photographer: Should he rescue the victim and lose the opportunity of taking a great photograph? Or remain instead “professional” and observe the world as an outsider? This holds for all artists: at one point are we being selfish in our pursuits? At what point is our solitude essential for the well-being of all?
Gets complicated, doesn’t it.